


)dissonance(

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Team as Family, compassion - Freeform, loss of hearing, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23368108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Malcolm experiences sudden deafness, which requires a course of medication to treat. The team works to help him stay engaged.For Bad Things Happen Bingo Friends Pick Edition prompt Loss of Hearing.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 89
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	)dissonance(

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Atomrealm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atomrealm/gifts).



The brightest colors whirled through his vision. The sun warmed a ladybug who escaped the early chill. Crocuses bent in the slight breeze, sparring with the daffodils. Wiry steel flared in orangey hues, racing to achieve the most curves. Einstein’s hair mixed with Carrot Top’s, stretching for the second story.

A kid with a scooter crashed into him and sprawled out on the concrete. He offered a hand up, but the kid didn’t take it. His face contorted in pain, tears fell from his eyes, his mouth opened and neck clenched at a vast intake of air —

But he didn’t hear anything.

Why was the kid silent screaming?

He looked up, finding others crowding around helping the kid. Looked toward the subway entrance and didn’t hear the daily raucous. Looked at all the faces pushing in around him trying to get him to take action.

And shot up in bed screaming.

But he didn’t hear anything.

He sobbed into his hands, tears spilling over his fingertips. Felt the moisture blend into his skin. Tasted the salt as it ran to his lips. But didn’t hear his cries.

He trekked to Sunshine’s cage, refilled her food and water, and watched as she hopped and opened her mouth to greet him. He missed her tweet.

Food had all the taste and smell but none of the crackle. It still made him sick. What sense would he need to get rid of to stop that?

His front door opened and Gil walked inside, causing Malcolm to jerk and nearly fall off his stool where he sat next to Sunshine.

Gil’s lips moved and his hands gestured, but Malcolm couldn’t understand. _I’m sorry, kid_ , he typed on his phone, and his hand went to the back of Malcolm’s neck.

Startled, Malcolm didn’t want the contact, but at the same time, he couldn’t imagine _not_ having it. What would he do if he couldn’t hear and Gil wasn’t there?

 _Good to see you ate breakfast_.

Malcolm shrugged.

 _Your chauffeur awaits_.

* * *

Vibrant shop signs poked into the car every which way as Gil meandered the streets. The car stopped, and only then, Malcolm realized they weren’t at the precinct.

The hair salon out his window flashed that they were in the Bronx. No, he didn’t need a haircut. Yes, it did seem like a fine establishment since 1999.

He turned to Gil, his eyebrows raised. He knew this meant a case, but he didn’t chance his voice, not liking the way it vibrated in his head. Talking felt so weird he hadn't even screamed out his misery in his loft the first day, instead nuzzling with Sunshine until it was time for her to go to sleep.

It’s _temporary_ , they had told him nearly a week before when he had woken up the same way. The sometimes incessant ringing and loss of sound. One sense down, and somehow the world was more overwhelming. He had no interest in talking to Gabrielle about the new anxiety. Temporary. He’d wait to see her until he could hear again.

Edrisa made an overly emphasized point of walking in front of him, her gestures of hello twice the usual size. Her head popped all around, her mouth moving a mile a minute.

Gil’s arm between them had her taking a step back.

The familiar environment was inundated with shapes and movement, colors stabbing into his skull with pitchforks, his breaths coming a bit faster, his palms sweating. By all accounts, Malcolm should have stayed home sleeping.

But Gil knew — he needed a case.

It could be a couple weeks of steroids before things returned to normal. Funny, some part of him actually _had_ a normal.

Dani and JT entered from the side of his vision. Malcolm gave a little wave, which Dani returned. JT handed him an iPad.

_At least you can’t hear Gil’s sigh of disappointment when you do something dumb._

Malcolm laughed, the expression shaking his chest. The pull of his wide smile told him he was in the right place.

* * *

Dani scribbled notes on paper and passed them back and forth to Malcolm at the conference table. A murder due to gang violence — they didn’t _need_ him.

But he needed them.

And to the team, that was all that mattered.

 _What about the tattoos?_ the post-it stack slid back to him.

Teardrops on each of the deceased’s knuckles. Burn marks on his upper arm. _Gang initiation,_ he wrote back, but he was aware she already knew that.

_Anything special about the weapon?_

Gun, not left behind at the scene. Could have belonged to anyone in the city. Caliber and method of shoot and run common. _I don’t need pity,_ slipped back to her.

 _It’s not —_ started on the paper, but then it got balled up and tossed at the garbage. Missed. _First to solve it wins._

_What?_

_You’re gonna owe me lunch._

Malcolm shook his head and hoarded the case files in front of him.

* * *

Malcolm’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he looked at it — _medicine_.

He walked back to his desk and retrieved a pill bottle out of his jacket pocket. He downed one with water and sighed over new pills at new times.

Somehow it wasn’t as satisfying without hearing the gush of air in his ears.

JT’s head appeared over the divider and Malcolm jumped, spilling some of the water onto his shirt.

JT’s eyes conveyed apology as Malcolm brushed the drops off. It wouldn’t even spot. Perks of high quality material.

Remembering and grabbing his iPad from his desk, JT typed and held it up to him. _Found what may have started all this._

Malcolm wished he could find it. But the doctor had explained learning that was rare, and they would _just try to fix it_. Not to worry, it would probably get better. Not worry — _right_.

_Wanna take a ride?_

Malcolm nodded in agreement.

* * *

No one was in the church when they entered, so they got first pick of seats. Malcolm let JT do the honors and slid in beside him.

 _It’s weird with you so quiet,_ JT typed on his iPad.

Malcolm shrugged. _I’m weird._

JT’s shoulders shook with a chuckle that graced his mouth. _What do you get if you win?_

_Dani wants lunch._

_You?_ JT pointed at the word on the screen.

Malcolm pondered — he hadn’t really given winnings a thought. _Your name._

 _When you’re better, I’ll shout it from the rooftop._ JT stared at him like he was serious.

Malcolm tipped his head back and forth, visualizing the offer. _A little weird._

 _When in Rome…_ He looked around the church, wondering where the gang members were.

* * *

Convincing the two men the speech-to-text app JT had downloaded wasn’t recording them was a small feat in itself, but JT had persevered. Malcolm alternated between watching their mannerisms and reading the screen, finding it frustrating that he wasn’t able to do both at the same time.

Then there were the times translation didn’t work. Somehow he didn’t think Guillermo had two guns in the chicken. Cabinet underneath the stove let him resolve that it was kitchen.

Malcolm fiddled swapping to a second app to write down his question with the stylus pencil. _Address?_ He held up the only thing he thought they still needed, knowing from their relaxed demeanor and typical eye contact they were likely telling the truth.

The conversation stopped and both men across from them stared at him. _Subtle, Bright_ , he chided himself. Talking with folks connected to a case was his specialty. Could he even do that right?

JT put a rare hand on his shoulder and squeezed. His other hand motioned between them and one of the men reached for the iPad, scribbling. _Morris Avenue, bro — anything else?_

Patient eyes looked back at Malcolm over the top of the iPad. They didn’t have more to ask for the case, but the considerate gesture led him to one more question. _Anywhere around here have good soup?_

Chops of celery and carrot, thick chunks of chicken, and wide egg noodles, the chicken noodle was amazing. He even got rice pudding for dessert. JT was too absorbed in his own beef chili to make the lack of conversation bothersome. Malcolm texted Dani — _I win_.

* * *

The cacophony returned on the trip back to the precinct. Too much traffic, stopped at light after light through multiple cycles flashing at him. Bumps from the uneven street underneath them. Lull without the ability to talk JT’s ear off. Food churning in his unsettled stomach. His hand fluttered against his leg, under his knee, up to the door handle, tapping against the window trying to escape.

High-pitched ringing assaulted his ears and his free hand went up to his head as if he could stop it. _It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass_ , he reminded himself, but it didn’t make it any easier. His head took a tune of its own thudding against the window. He mouthed — no, no, no — over and _over_.

JT squeezed his shoulder again — twice in one day, twice in a matter of _hours_. He took a deep breath in — he was fine, so fine, was fine, fine, fine — his hand rattled where he hid it near the door.

He didn’t wait for JT when they got back to the precinct — he dashed away inside.

JT wondered what _no_ meant, but gave him the space to escape.

* * *

The supply closet didn’t have much in it — paper, pens, folders, staples. Pewter racks holding the contents.

But it was a swath of grey, the world finally as muted as his ears.

Malcolm breathed in the corner, his head resting on his knees, his chest puffing out as his arms held his legs. He couldn’t get the light to stay off — it popped back on every time he shook.

He needed _quiet_. And yet, he had too much of it.

He needed _space_. But he couldn’t escape taking his usual laps on the sidewalk. Couldn’t pace until his steps matched his heart and the wild beat finally started to descend.

He sat on the supply closet floor, shaking until his breathing evened.

The lights went out. Peace. He imagined going home to Sunshine and playing until she had flown through every corner of his loft, then tucking her in under her cover to sleep.

The lights blared on and Gil’s knees appeared, the black fabric stretching as he knelt down to him. Malcolm blinked, trying to adjust to the fluorescent pounding into his head.

 _Home?_ Gil held out to him on his phone.

Malcolm nodded, without protest.

* * *

Gil watched over Malcolm’s sleeping form from the counter. Malcolm had fallen asleep surprisingly quickly, clearly exhausted from the day. Gil couldn’t bring himself to leave yet.

Drinking a glass of water, Gil tried to decide if Malcolm’s hearing loss and subsequent decision not to talk was worse than when he’d stopped talking as a kid. _At least this had a medical cause_ , he considered. But he quickly corrected himself, _that did too_. If anything, the traumas inflicted by The Surgeon were easier to explain than his hearing loss. All of his exposure to caring for Malcolm, and he still found himself thinking or saying the wrong thing sometimes. Jackie would scold him. In his head, she still did.

Would this be permanent? Would altering his daily life become more than a temporary stay? Did it hurt? Was Malcolm suffering pain he wasn’t speaking about in the _oh-so-typical_ Malcolm way?

Could he get the team a better decompression space than the supply closet?

Gil swirled the water in his glass as if it were whiskey.

What if Malcolm wasn’t okay?

Was he ever?

Gil downed the rest of the glass and let himself out of the loft.

* * *

Gil’s phone blasted in the middle of the night, thrusting him from sleep as he patted his hand along the nightstand. Three AM, his alarm clock told him. He didn’t look at the display, just answered, “Hello?”

“Gil!” A voice chirped through the haze.

“Bright?!” He was still confused, but decidedly more awake.

“You’re really quiet,” Malcolm’s voice carried wonderment.

“ _You_ are not,” Gil laughed, a rich sound that warmed his belly.

“I can hear some things,” Malcolm announced like he’d had a paranormal experience rather than temporary hearing loss.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to come over?” He looked over to where his clothes lay across the hope chest.

“I just wanted to hear your voice.” Malcolm sounded mesmerized, as if Gil were a rare treasure. Outside of the circumstances, Gil would've thought he was high.

“Kid.”

“You’re quiet.” Or perhaps Malcolm was a space cadet.

“Go back to bed.”

“Gil —“ he started, but stopped, leaving Gil with silence.

“I know. Sleep.”

* * *

His dreams carried raging sirens flying to arrest villains unseen. Demons wailing while they attacked him with enraged beaks and claws. Shouts, and whimpers, and piercing howls when he failed to escape.

He shot up in bed screaming.

He heard everything.

For the first time in awhile, his nightmares seemed a lesser problem.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
